“I’m sorry. ‘My papa he does not wish me to marry the man I choose, and thus he places me in the convent that the nuns may lock me up and I cannot escape. You do not love your husband, you have married him for a position —to escape from—things which you feared. “But why is it preposterous?” asked Ann Veronica, and fiddled with a pipe on the mantel. He worried me to marry him. She recoiled. Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. This formidable person, who was no other than the renowned Figg, the "Atlas of the sword," as he is termed by Captain Godfrey, had removed his hat and "skull covering," and was wiping the heat from his bepatched and closeshaven pate. Hark ye, Blueskin," continued he, addressing that personage, who, in obedience to his commands, had, with great promptitude, driven out the rabble, and again secured the door, "a word in your ear. It would be the culmination of her plan.
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